Aperture Radio
by BloodMoonNights
Summary: It started with cinnamon rolls, and radio shows, innocently enough. Wheatley Stephens had the best job in the world at Aperture Radio. With his nutty boss Mr. Johnson, his insanely scary wife Glados, and their niece Chell who doesn't seem to speak at all, but is interesting enough that Wheatley thinks he might like to know her. An AU Portal Fanfic.


**Aperture Radio**

Chapter One: Of Cinnamon Rolls and Radio Shows

––—∞—––

If you asked Wheatley Stephens what his favorite thing to do was, it would be working. And you might find that a bit odd because most normal people hate work; the keyword there is _normal_. Wheatley Stephens was not normal, however. He was far from it, if we're being honest. Then again, Wheatley Stephens had one of the best jobs ever, in his most humble of opinions. He worked at a local radio station in the small town of Willowbrook, Wisconsin- Aperture Radio, to be exact. He was one of the two personnel that came on said station- the other being Mrs. Caroline Glados Johnson, referred to as mighty lord Satan, dark lord of all, in Wheatley's mind. He worked the night shift, took calls from people in the community who tuned in to his show ("What in the World…with Wheatley!") from 9 PM to 5 AM, and got to talk constantly about whatever came into his weird little head while simultaneously getting to play whatever music he fancied.

Yes. Wheatley had it pretty great.

His boss, Cave Johnson, was a kooky, balding old man with way too much money to burn, and a penchant for the weird and wacky. Before he had owned the radio station he had been some sort of scientist, or at least that's what rumors said. He had money to blow and opened the station in his mansion of a house in their small, quaint town whose population didn't exceed 200. Everyone knew Mr. Johnson, and a lot of people adored him. He was kind and out there and he always had time to help out someone, even if they had to listen to his rants.

Mr. Johnson's wife however was another story altogether. Caroline Glados Johnson was a cut-throat woman; she took nothing from no one, not even her husband. She was the daytime personality- 10AM to 6PM (the hours in between their shifts was occupied by commercial-less music,)- and a very stiff, no nonsense type of person. She was a thin, sharp angled woman with a long face, thin nose and almost golden eyes that were usually drawn into slits especially where Wheatley was concerned. Her hair was black, intertwined with grey and cut into a short bob. She wore suits and heels and insisted upon taking her two annoying, yapping Pomeranians (Atlas and P-body) everywhere she went. Mr. Johnson loved his wife with all his heart, and did his best to appease her.

However, and this is no big secret, Glados (she hated her first name, and demanded she be called by her middle) had a great disdain for Wheatley. She couldn't stand his constant yammering over the most idiotic of things. How he was so popular was beyond her understanding, and she wanted him fired. Or set on fire. Or both. Both were good.

Mr. Johnson adamantly refused; where his wife disliked him, Mr. Johnson adored him. He had a soft spot for the crazy, fast talking British fool. Enough so that he paid Wheatley's rent, and let him talk about whatever he wanted on his show.

Wheatley Stephens was very happy.

And then _she_ came.

––—∞—––

"Wheatley, you're wanted in his office," Glados said, poking her head into Wheatley's radio booth. The man looked up, and pulled off his headphones, shaking out his short, blonde hair in the process. Glados sniffed contemptuously, and looked around his station. It was filthy- candy wrappers and cartons of old Chinese food were strewn about the place higgledy-piggledy. What her husband saw in this cretin was beyond her. She rubbed her temples; it was far too early for a headache. "I'll take over for you until you get back." She extended a hand and made a grabbing motion.

He placed the headphones into her hand and stood up, stretching. Wheatley loomed over Glados at a whopping 6'7''; he always thought it a bit neat that he could look down on here physically while she seemed to do it emotionally. At age twenty-seven Wheatley was not a horrible looking person: thin body- probably disgustingly thin by some standards- with spindly fingers and gangly limbs, short blonde hair with a bit of fringe that hung over his forehead, big ears that somehow fit him perfectly, a thin nose and wide blue eyes hidden behind large, square rimmed glasses. And his wide, goofy grin set the whole package in motion. "Thanks! What's he want to talk to me about? Do you know? You probably know huh- can't say too much? Don't want to spoil a surprise, eh? It's a surprise right? It is! Oh man alive! Maybe it's a promotioAAAGHHH-" His headphones flew past his head and smashed into the wall behind him.

"Please cease your talking, you insufferable little maggot. Just go, before I lose my temper." Glados snarled, pointing menacingly at the door. Wheatley cowered a bit, and scampered away after wishing her well.

The walk to Mr. Johnson's office was short, and he took his time. Their house was really something else: lots of art and priceless…things. Lots of colors, and animal prints and-and cultural pieces. Maybe a good thing to talk about tonight would be the weirdest things you've bought for your home. Yeah. That could be interesting.

Wheatley pulled himself from his thoughts and knocked lightly on Mr. Johnson's door. "Jesus Christ!" came the booming voice from inside. "Come in!" was the next order and Wheatley turned the knob and obeyed.

"Hello, boss. How's it going?" tumbled the words from his mouth before he realized it was not simply _just_ Mr. Johnson in the room. Two pairs of eyes stared at him. One, obviously, belonged to his boss but the other belonged to a girl he had never seen before. She was small, but well-built and very plain in a tank top and tattered blue jeans. Her skin was tanned to a beautiful light brown and her long brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail atop her head. Her eyes- a dark brown- wavered as they locked onto him. She had a sweet, rounded face with a small nose peppered in freckles and full lips.

She was beautiful, if he was to be honest.

And he was dumbfounded. His jaw slacked a little and all that came out was, "Uh." Very smooth, Wheaties. Very, very smooth… "Er, h-hello," he waved awkwardly at the girl who tensed up and averted all eye contact and messed with part of her torn jeans. "You wanted- you wanted to see me, Mr. Johnson?" he finished lamely. Mr. Johnson nodded and pointed to the empty seat next to the girl. He took it, and she scooted far away from him, and looked out the large window in the corner of Mr. Johnson's office.

"As you can see, we have a new guest. This is my niece Chell, she will be staying at the house for a while due to…certain mitigating circumstances. I'm allowing her to work as Glados's assistant, but I supposed you may need her help as well. So, go on! Shake hands. Get comfy." Mr. Johnson made a shooing motion with his hands and leaned back in his rather large leather chair. Wheatley bit his bottom lip and looked over at the girl- Chell. She was still staring out the window, breathing softly but otherwise silent. She looks completely at ease in her own mind; Wheatley would hate to interrupt.

Mr. Johnson coughs, shaking her from her mind. She turns to him, eyes wide and still silent. "Uhm, hullo," he says, extending a hand to her. She regards him, her eyes taking in him but her mouth saying nothing. Her body giving nothing away as to what she thinks; it's driving him insane. And he is nervous, and when he gets nervous he rambles. "Name's Wheatley. Like the cereal, only not really. Not really edible. Though, actually, if we are getting technical I am- you could eat me. I-I mean, not that you're some sort of flesh eating monster- unless you are! If you are that-that is just peachy. Just so nice. You look like you would be a nice cannibal; do those exist? If they do they would definitely look like you." He is going to drink bleach when he leaves. He is going to grab bleach from the laundry room, and go on the air and tell his listeners that he just made a huge, bloody fool of himself in front of a very pretty lady. And then he will chug bleach.

Perfect. Brilliant. Yes. Okay.

Chell looks at him, her face a blank slate. Then, the smallest of smiles works its way onto her face. It's so small Wheatley had to double take to make sure it was really there. And as soon as it came, it was gone. She sighed softly, then got up and walked out of the office. Wheatley stayed stone still in his seat until he heard the click of the door behind him.

"She's…she seems nice." He finally said, causing Mr. Johnson to chortle and lean forward on his desk, hands clamped together.

"Her parents just died- my brother and his wife. Car crash; devastating. They died instantly. Chell survived, but she hasn't said a word since. Almost paralyzed her, poor girl. Had to crawl a mile to find help," he trails off, looking at a picture on the side of his desk. Wheatley followed his line of sight and squints to get a better view. It's Mr. Johnson and Glados on their wedding day, next to another couple who looks just as happy as they all hug and smile. Mr. Johnson reaches his hand out and turns the picture face down, and coughs into his fist. "Anyways, she's a good girl. Smart, strong, eager. She'll be able to help you guys out, just give her a little bit of time to get adjusted if you decide you do need her."

Wheatley nods, and, sensing that the conversation is over- also noticing he needs to get back on the air before Glados causes him to lose any listeners- stands up and says goodbye to his boss. As he walks out of the office, he hurries back to his little station wondering about the new girl and if he will get to learn more about her. "I guess so. I mean, I mean it's not like I'm scary or anything- I'm harmless, like a kitten or something…something fluffy. And she'll be around, so I'll get another chance to impress her. I am a pretty impressive guy, I am. Definitely extra-ordinary." He talks to himself and walks back into his station to take over for the night.

––—∞—––

Wheatley saw nothing of Chell over the next few days. It was as if the girl was a bloody phantom or a ghost. When he went to ask Glados where she was- as he was planning on inviting her to lunch one day- the elder woman simply narrowed her golden eyes and told him to stay away from her. "She's an idiot, like you. But a smarter idiot; I don't need you dumbing her up, you insignificant cockroach." And with a wave of her hand she dismissed him.

He shambled out of her sight very quickly after that and went about his usual business. He only wanted to be polite and friendly. He was a friendly guy! Probably the friendliest! Definitely the friendliest in this house- not that it was his house, but as he was under the roof of said house at that moment in time, technically he _was_ in "this house". Wheatley shook his head and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. He really needed to stop doing those little ranty things in his mind; probably not going to make him seem cool if it ever came to light he did that…

Checking his watch he saw that the time was seven o'clock and he had two more hours before his show. He was thinking about talking about dreams tonight; dreams were brilliant. Lately he had been having that really queer one where he was a small, ball-like robot who worked underground in some weird lab where they did tests with these humans and agh! It was odd, it was very odd. And they had this weird, strange device that made holes in the walls and you could _jump_ through it! Jump right through 'em and be somewhere else entirely. Oh, it was cool. So, he thought that might be a fun topic for a Friday night.

Aperture radio did not run like normal on weekends. Most times, they played smooth jazz- Wheatley's favorite!- much to the disdain of Glados who had wanted her show to be continued on weekends despite it being…not popular. They played it on a loop, allowing the members of the community to tune in if they wished and enjoy some nice, relaxing music. It was something Wheatley enjoyed, to be sure- nice music and a lazy weekend. Such nice commodities that came with the job. Such a joy.

He started to whistle, decided to grab some food before his shift began- at least until he smelt something really great wafting from the kitchen. Without really thinking, he followed his nose around the corner and into the massively sized kitchen. The ceiling was high, connecting to the upstairs and allowing, if you so chose, to look down into it from the upstairs living room. It was painted a nice golden color, making it feel so warm and connected to a dining-living room combo. It was a nice set-up Wheatley thought, and a massive kitchen for how little it was used. Glados, it could be said, had no time for cooking which left Cave to eat sandwiches and the occasional frozen meal.

Long story short, he had never smelt something this bloody delicious in the house before this moment. He peeked around the corner to see who it was and when it became obvious he scurried away and out of sight. It was Chell, in her white tank top and jeans, these weird looking boots- white, with a rather odd curved black part in back- and an orange apron over all that; she had been mixing something in a bowl next to the oven from where the smell radiated.

She was baking something! That, Wheatley thought, was absolutely amazing. It was! He wanted to know what it was, but he was slightly worried that he might scare her if he came bursting in. Sometimes he had that effect on people, and she was certainly not used to him at all so she might either hit him with something or run. He didn't like either option, but he also didn't want to run away. "Okay, okay. Okay! Just-just walk in all cool like. Be suave, be suave and don't be loud or panic. Be yourself, Wheats! Okay, oh-okay, yup! Here I go!" and with that he lunged into the kitchen, tripping over Atlas and P-body's dog bowls and falling face first onto the floor.

"Jeez," he whined, rolling onto his back and feeling around for his glasses which had flown off in his fall from grace. "Bang up job, Wheatley. Nice fall, really classy. Really smooth…" He felt his glasses slide back onto his nose. "Oh gosh, thanks mate-AGH!" Chell leaned over him, a worried, quizzical look on his face. "AHHHHmygod. Oh. Ah…aha," he made these noises as he scurried back up to his feet, blush coursing over his face. "Ahaha, thank you. Thank you for putting my glasses back on. Uhm, I'm-I'm sorry! I'm sorry for interrupting. I just smelt something, well something wonderful and so I decided to check. But then I saw you and I said: no, Wheatley! You called her a cannibal last time; she probably does not want to see you. Not one bit. And then I tripped, and I uh… I'm sorry." He finished lamely, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous habit.

She stared at him blankly, obviously unsure of what to do. A timer buzzed behind her, and she whirled her head and walked back over to the oven. Wheatley watched with curiosity, trying to keep his questions to himself. She put on an oven mitt, opening said oven and pulling out a steaming plate of whatever Wheatley had smelt. Oh man alive, it smelt really great. He found himself practically drooling and tried to compose himself. Chell placed them atop the counter, grabbed the mixing bowl from before and spooned thick, white, sweet smelling liquid atop the circular breaded treat.

"What-what is that you are making?" he asked, standing on his tip toes so he could lean farther over the counter and eye them. She either hadn't heard him or ignored him, as she didn't make a motion to move beyond spreading what he was sure was now frosting over the little round, rolls she had baked. "Oh! Oh, you're making cinnamon rolls. Oh wow! W-o-w! I've never smelt something so nice in this house; this is brilliant. You must be a really great baker, or…or something!" he said, getting the ghost of a smile in return. She reached up to the cabinet and pulled down two plates; he watched as she scooped two rolls from the pan and onto a plate, before sticking a fork in them and placing it before him on the counter. He stared at it whimsically, not daring to do anything with it until he saw her place one on upon her plate, and gently take a bite.

Wheatley grabbed his fork and cut a small-okay, it was actually rather large, he did like food and he was famished- piece from the whole of it and shoved it into his mouth. He couldn't help the tiny moan that escaped his mouth. Chell's eyes widened at his noise and then her eyebrows furrowed. Maybe he didn't like the food? That was what she thought until he began shoveling the rest of the cinnamon rolls into his mouth- all one and a half that were left upon his plate! "Oh man, oh man, oh man!" he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was…amazing. It was. Did you make those from scratch?" he asked, smiling genially at her.

She nodded.

"Those were brilliant; way better than the ones you can make out of a can. Certainly much easier, but yours were much more delicious. Melted in my mouth-right as I took the bite they were all PHWOOSH. Melted! Could I have another one? Would that be okay? Cause, cause they were really excellent and-" She was laughing at him. She was! She was covering her mouth and nose with her hands, her shoulders shaking up and down as she tried to quell her laughter. Wheatley let out a soft chuckle, and then he was laughing along with her. She had a cute laugh- soft, light, and almost too quiet to hear. Like bells, or something sweet like that.

After a few minutes they stopped, and he stared at her with his goofy grin going from ear to ear. She grabbed his plate and put a few more cinnamon rolls on there before stacking some atop her own plate, wrapping it in tin-foil and turning.

"H-hey! Where are you going?" he asked. She turned to him, her face back to its normal blank slate. Chell gave him a small shrug and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him there with a steaming stack of cinnamon rolls and a half grin adorning his face.

––—∞—––

Chell wasn't sure what she thought about living with her uncle and his evil wife yet. She knew it was nicer than the hospital she had been in for a few weeks while things got settled. Her uncle was kind enough to take her in with open arms, to open his home to this girl who needed someone to help fix whatever had been broken. She appreciated him, even with all his eccentric tendencies he was truly a good man. His wife was a completely different story.

Upon seeing Chell her nose had wrinkled and she glared down. "An orphan, Cave? Honestly?" and with a small snort of disdain she had turned and walked back into the house, her two yapping dogs following and leaving Chell and her two small bags standing in the doorway.

She scowled in remembrance of all the rude, condescending things Mrs. Johnson had said already- after only two days here, no less.

When Chell had a second helping of potatoes at dinner she had remarked, in a clipped voice, "I've often heard that people who stay in the hospital for a long time tend to lose weight. Congratulations on your ability to pack on a few pounds in the process."

When she had- _accidentally_ mind you!- dropped some of Glados's fine china when the woman left her dogs bowls in the middle of the floor the woman had shrieked at her, calling her a "dangerous, mute, lunatic!"

On the first night she had stayed in their home, she had ended up crying in the bathroom- soft, big tears but no sobs to accompany it- after she heard Glados talking on the phone about her. "She's an orphan; must be so difficult to know that your parents couldn't force themselves to stay alive for their only child. Pity."

And she had come to the conclusion that some people in this world were just horrible, rude little creatures and that Glados was probably the queen of them. Chell sat down at the vanity in her room and snatched the ponytail out of her hair, letting the mid-length brown tresses drop to her shoulder.

Well, she had decided, she would not let that woman get to her. She would be stronger than that, because she was. She had always been strong and confident, even before the car crash.

A phantom pain shot up through the backs of her calves, and she winced but held back the groan of pain she knew might just break free of her throat. Bending over she slipped off the boots from her feet and feeling the long, raggedy scar that trailed up the back of them; her legs had been crushed under the weight of the car, and if she had stayed where she was instead of crawling her way to help she would never have walked again. She hated the boots- they were uncomfortable, made her walk almost on her tippy toes, and were not aesthetically pleasing. But they would help her legs recover their strength, and get her back to her previous state.

Chell shook her head, her hair following in rhythm, as she abandoned the thoughts of before and went back to thinking one thought: don't let her words get to you. Cave was far too busy to see the type of person his wife really was, and Chell didn't want to tell him. It wasn't her place after he had so graciously let her in to their home,_ their_ life. She would survive, it was just another test and she was good at those.

She clicked on the radio next to her jewelry box, not enjoying the silence in that moment. "_-and so I wanted to talk to you about, about something I normally don't_," her head whirled to stare at the radio, knowing that voice. She had heard it all over the house over the past three days she had been here- it was that late-night radio host her uncle loved so much. Wheatley, if she remembered correctly.

Now, Wheatley she supposed was alright. He liked to talk, and he talked really fast and as if he didn't think before he spoke. He probably didn't. But he was nice enough to her the first two times she had come in contact with him- the second being the better of the two as he hadn't referred to the possibility of her being a flesh-eater. She had heard him conversing with Glados, and the elder woman referring to him as "the greatest moron of the generation". He had spluttered for words, suddenly at a loss for them for once.

"_-so…so! There's this girl, this person of the female persuasion that I have met twice in the last few days. And she seems pretty cool. She made these cinnamon rolls today, and I kind of flubbed my entrance- tripped over a dog bowl, fell on my face. Right on the bloody floor. Classic Wheatley and all that. But she made these homemade cinnamon rolls and oh man! OH MAN. They are something. But, but uh… She seems lovely, actually, but she is very quiet- doesn't say much, actually she hasn't said anything at all to me… Maybe she's just scared. I am a bit…a bit tall and scarecrow like, I guess..._"

She cocked an eyebrow. He was talking about her? On his radio show? To the whole town? A small flush of heat made its way across her face and she sighed, rolling her eyes and brushing the tangles out of her hair.

"_That's not my point, not my point at all. Not about me right now. Well, in a way it is- in a way, but it's more about her. See, I'm kind of socially awkward- wouldn't know that from looking at me, or listening to me I guess- I am pretty open on the radio, but that's…that's a different story completely. I want to get to know her better, I want to be…to be able to have a conversation with her without mentioning cannibalism, or something silly like that. So, listeners- I am all ears! All ears on this one: how do you talk to someone? How do you introduce yourself? We'll, we'll talk about this for a few and then we will get into the real meat and potatoes of the night! Dreams: what do they mean and why do I wake up with a fear of outer space! I'll be back after these three songs, so call in,_" and with that the slow, melodious tunes of jazz filter into the room.

Chell is staring dumbfounded at the radio, completely in shock. He wanted to get to know her? Why? She was just a girl who he happened to meet. There was nothing especially interesting about her, or her life- and no, she would not talk about the car crash if he asked. She was…well flattered that someone actually wanted to communicate with her, to get to know her and not because of what her parents did or who her uncle was or any of that!

He thought she was interesting. And he obviously liked her cinnamon rolls, very much so. She found herself smiling involuntarily and covered it quickly with her hand. She clicked off the radio- deciding that was enough for one night, and that maybe she would tune in again Monday if the mood hit her. She crawled into her too big bed, under the covers and turned off the light allowing only the light of the moon to illuminate inside her bedroom.

––—∞—––

"I wasn't sure your segments could get any more idiotic," Glados began, filing her nails as she leaned against the door to Wheatley's little radio room. He stared at her, biting his lip and slightly worried. She usually had some frigid remark about the show, but right now she seemed absolutely on a rampage- full of rage and evil. More so than usual, even. "I thought, he's done so many ridiculous ones he must be close to running out…" Wheatley gulped.

Last night he had gone in depth into his dream- or what he could recall of them. A lot of listeners had called in with their own weird dreams, or some comment on his. But the best part, the absolute best part of the night!, had been all the people who had called in to give him advice on what to do with what he was lovingly calling "The Chell Situation". One listener had suggested the old boom-box outside her window which would be a good idea IF he knew which window in the house belonged to her, and what music she even liked. Another had suggested baking her a cake in return for her delicious food, and writing her a poem in icing- that one he liked, because who didn't like food? But then he remembered that last time he tried to cook it went up in flames. A frequent caller had told him to just be himself and that she will come around in time because he was just a peach- oh he liked this caller very much, almost as much as he liked actual peaches.

"You didn't….not a fan of dreams then?" he said, trying to get his voice in somehow. She flashed deadly gold eyes his way and he wilted under that stare. "Okay, don't have to glare so menacingly, love. A simple 'no' would do, just a simple 'no'- one syllable-"

"Shut up!" Glados snarled, throwing her nail file past his head. "You are the biggest moron ever brought into existence; do you honestly think that Chell would be interested in talking to some half-brained nitwit?"

Oh. It wasn't about dreams.

It was about Chell.

Wheatley gulped, "W-well, I was just trying to see how I could get her to talk to me. She seems like a lovely person and- and I want to get to know her. I don't see how that is necessarily a bad thing." Atlas and P-body bounded into the room, chasing a tennis ball that had been apparently thrown down the hallway. Atlas- the smaller of the two, clad in a blue collar and rather stout- managed to bite onto Wheatley's ankle instead of the tennis ball. The man jumped, holding back a shriek of pain. P-body- clad in an orange collar, and longer limbed, skinnier, and even taller somehow- took this opportunity to grab the tennis ball and bolt for her master.

Glados laughed once, loudly, and bent down to take the toy from her dog's mouth. Atlas finally released Wheatley's ankle and bounded over to Glados as well. Both dogs sat down, wagging their fluffy tails and making cute whining noises as they waited for the toy to be thrown again. Wheatley bent down and rubbed his sore ankle, happy that it was not bleeding. He nearly fell off his chair when the tennis ball bounced off his head and rolled back out into the hallway, followed closely by the two fighting Pomeranians.

"She isn't interested in idiots; as much of an idiot as she is herself; she was bred to be better than that. Meaning, simply, that you have no chance. Quit while you are ahead, if you're even ahead at all. Which I somehow highly doubt." And with that she turned on her heels and headed into her own room to prepare for her own show on Monday- she _planned_ them! Can you believe that? It was Saturday morning and she was planning for work already.

Wheatley rubbed his eyes. It was late, and the show was done for the week. Maybe he would sleep in tomorrow, get up late and then lazy about his apartment. Maybe he would try to bake! Probably not, though. He yawned and grabbed his small rucksack of items; beside that laid the empty platter of cinnamon rolls, which he had devoured immediately and without much thought to saving them. He grabbed the plate and the fork and headed for the kitchen- he could at least wash the dish and leave it in the sink. Mr. Johnson allowed him his own space to do what he wanted, and to be honest it was messy but he knew that if Glados found one of her precious china plates in his space she would destroy him. Probably with lasers and dogs. She did so enjoy those mutts…

It was early, early, early- about 6:40 AM- so Wheatley tip toed his way down the hall towards the kitchen. Mr. Johnson liked to sleep in, and he wasn't sure what Chell's schedule was, but either way he didn't want to disturb either of them. As he approached the kitchen once more, he noticed that the light was on. He stopped; Glados never left the light on, so it had to be….

He darted in the doorway, managing not to trip this time OR send the plates crashing to the floor. His eyes scanned the room for her, for Chell. He was going to impress her with his-his talents. His stories, maybe. His suave…hair. Yes, brilliant!

At least that was the plan until he saw her sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the large wall sized window into the backyard of the house. She had a steaming cup of something in front of her-probably tea- and one elbow propped on the table supporting her chin which she rested on her palm. She was still in her pajamas: hair hanging limply down to her shoulders, black colored shorts and a baggy t-shirt. She had no shoes on, and this was the first time he had seen her out of those weird boots; and he was going to ask her why she wore them until he got closer and saw the long line of a deep scars rising from her ankles to halfway up her calves. It stopped him dead in his tracks.

She took a sip from her drink, and let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging as she did so.

He let out a small cough into his closed fist- just quiet enough to not scare her, but loud enough to get her attention. She jumped anyways, nearly spilling over her mug in the process. She placed her hand over her heart, shoulders trembling from the surprise. "Ah, I'm sorry, love! Didn't mean to give you such a fright." He said, hands up as if he had been caught doing something bad.

Chell narrowed her brown eyes, before seeing the plate in his hand and cocking her head, her hair falling over her shoulder like a waterfall. Wheatley copied her movements, not understanding what she was apparently confused about, until she pointed to his hands. "Oh!" he said, "Oh, yeah. See, thought it would be better to clean the dish than have Glados find it. She…she's quite protective of these dishes, and I would like to enjoy a semblance of my weekend before…before probably being attacked by dogs with laser beams on their head." He rambled, a mixture of sleepiness and nervousness. He didn't want to startle the girl any more than he knew he already had. He slowly moved his way to the sink and began to wash the dish, determined to not make a fool of himself anymore today. "Thank you again," he said as he delicately cleaned the china plate, "The cinnamon rolls were brilliant, just delicious. I enjoyed them immensely. Very light, and sweet. Tasted like…like cinnamon. And icing." He looked back up to see Chell staring at him with an amusing smirk. He felt a light flush cover his face and he grinned back.

She pushed back her chair, grabbing her cup and heading to the stairs. "Wait!" he called after her, not sure why until the words tumbled aimlessly from his mouth. The girl turned, looking curious. Wheatley stumbled for the perfect words, something he never had a problem with before until this moment, curse this timing! "H-have a good weekend, Chell." It was lame, but it must have been okay because Chell smiled a smile that actually reached her eyes. She toasted him with her cup, waved softly, and disappeared up the stairs.

Chell waited until she heard him leave, then looked over the balcony above the kitchen. She leaned on the banister and let out a soft sigh. Maybe, she thought, she would make him some more of those cinnamon rolls Monday, as a thank you for treating her like a human being. But then again, she thought as well, he might never leave her alone.

And maybe, she mused, that would be okay.


End file.
